Time-jacked
by RexDragosaurus
Summary: The Doctor was dead, but time is a big ball of wibbly-wobbly-timey-wimey stuff. The Doctor knew this, and yet it still surprised him when he found himself removed from a previous point in his timeline by person or persons unknown and stranded with the post-regeneration Noble family.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: **Oh look, it's another Doctor Who story! I got the idea for this one after I'd already outlined my other story, Sick Leave, so I decided to write and upload them both. This story deviated away from the original idea while I was writing it, unlike the other one, but I think it turned out better for it in the end. Anyroad, that's that, have fun!

* * *

**Time-jacked**

**Chapter One**

The Doctor was all alone in his TARDIS. Sometimes he told himself he liked it that way. Sometimes that wasn't a lie. But right now, he was trying desperately to distract himself from the loneliness he was feeling, and so he was, secretly, just a _tiny _bit glad when something behind him exploded with a terrific _BOOM! _

He didn't have long to enjoy it, however, before he was flung forward into the TARDIS console and lost consciousness.

When he came to, the Doctor was surrounded by a haze of smoke, and several alarms he hadn't even known he'd had were going off. "What—?" he began, then broke off, coughing, as he staggered to his feet. Bits of the TARDIS around him were on fire. He seemed to have landed, but the smoke was obscuring the television screen, so he couldn't tell where. He had no idea what had just happened, but there'd be time to worry about that after he'd put the fires out.

Dashing into the hall, the Doctor found himself a fire extinguisher and hurried back into the control room. He pointed the extinguisher wildly at the largest of the fires and, realising slightly too late that he'd bought this particular fire extinguisher from a dodgy trader on the planet Swindle, pulled the thing that looked vaguely like a lever.

There was a second explosion, this one composed largely of sticky pink foam that smelled like hand sanitiser and kiwi fruit. The Doctor looked slowly around and saw to his relief that the fires were no more. He was also coated in pink foam from the toes of his Converses to the tips of his spiky brown hair, but that was a minor setback at worst.

He spent about a minute trying (and largely failing) to turn off the alarms, which were still screaming all kinds of warnings at him, and then he turned towards the hall, intending to change into a clean suit. But this plan was slightly ruined when the TARDIS suddenly de-materialised—leaving him behind.

"Hey, come back!" the Doctor shouted, waving his arms wildly around as though to check that his beloved ship hadn't merely turned invisible. "What are you doing?!" Flecks of pink foam went flying from his hands to splatter onto the ground, which was already adorned with several foamy footprints.

At that point, a voice he'd never expected to hear again spoke out in a tone of mockery, albeit tinged with a hint of apprehension. "Oi!" it said. "What is it with people shouting at the air around here? First Mum, then Old Mad Steve, and now _you_—who the hell _are _you, anyway? What's that stuff you're covered in? Are you some kind of busker, or did you escape from the loony bin? Well? _Speak _up, you big—"

The Doctor said nothing in the face of this barrage, but turned slowly around to look at the lippy red-haired woman doing the interrogating. When she finally paused for breath, however, he seized his chance: "Donna?"

Donna, just about to start firing questions again, stopped and closed her mouth. Her eyes widened, then narrowed again as she glared at him. "How d'you know my name?" she snapped at last.

The Doctor was confused for a minute—but just for a minute. He quickly surmised that he'd been sent by someone or drawn by something to a point in Donna's timeline when she hadn't met him yet. He didn't know how or why, but he could concentrate on that after he'd worked out what to do about his missing TARDIS. "Um," he said awkwardly, "never mind. We...met. At a thing. Once. You probably don't remember..."

"Oh yeah?" Donna didn't seem very impressed. "Who're you, then?"

"I'm—" The Doctor broke off suddenly, staring at the window of Donna's house. There were two people waving urgently at him from behind it: Donna's mum and...that old man he'd met at Christmas, of all people! But that wasn't possible, was it? They evidently knew him, which meant he'd met them, which meant he must have met Donna...so why didn't Donna show any signs of recollection? And why did those two look so shocked, like they were seeing a ghost?

"Well?" Donna's voice, more impatient than ever, broke into the Doctor's thoughts. "You got a name, then?"

The Doctor allowed his gaze to linger on the faces in the window a moment more, then turned back towards his old friend. Well, not friend, exactly. He'd only met her the once, after all. But they'd been through so much together that day that she was more than just an acquaintance. "Er," he said, "I'm the—OUCH!" A pineapple had just been flung out the (now open) window, presumably by Mrs Noble, and it had hit the Doctor square in the back of the head. "What was that for?!" he demanded of Donna's mother, rubbing the spot where it hurt.

"Never mind _that_," hissed Mrs Noble, beckoning the Doctor in a rather covert manner, as though she thought her daughter completely oblivious to what was going on. With great reluctance, the Doctor walked up to the house, still massaging his head.

"Right," Donna said loudly, "if everyone's going to _ignore _me, then I think I'm going inside." Receiving no answer, she did just that, muttering under her breath.

At the window, the Doctor stared at Mrs Noble and the old man. They both stared back. It was several seconds before the man finally burst out, "Doctor! You're still alive!"

"What?" said the Doctor.

"Why did you come back here?" added Mrs Noble. "Isn't it dangerous?"

"_What?" _said the Doctor.

"For Donna, I mean." said Mrs Noble. "Isn't there a chance she'll remember everything if you're here? You said she could die!"

"_What?!" _said the Doctor.

"And you said _you _were going to die! Was it a false alarm?" added the man.

"_WHAT?!" _said the Doctor.

* * *

**A/N: **Yay, classic Ten moment. (I don't think four instances of "what?" is unprecedented, though it's normally more like three...) He is so much fun to write. Hopefully he's as fun to read about. Anyway, this story, like Sick Leave, is already at draft stage (so updates will be swift), and will be seven chapters long. I'm thinking I'll update one story each day, alternating between the two. Just because I can. Happy reading, and goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

The Doctor (now mostly free of the sticky pink foam thanks to a couple of rather nice bath towels and a wet sponge) sat in the lounge room opposite Mrs Noble and the old man—who, it turned out, was Mrs Noble's dad, Wilfred. Donna was in the kitchen, putting the kettle on.

"Right," the Doctor said at last, "first things first." He turned to Mrs Noble with a wounded expression. "Now, I'm all for new and exciting ways to get people's attention, but _why _would you throw a pineapple at someone's head? It _really _hurt! I'm going to bruise all over, and that's going to make combing my hair a _nightmare_, and—"

"Look, I'm sorry," Mrs Noble interrupted testily, waving a dismissive hand, "but there wasn't time to think it through properly. You were going to tell Donna who you were!"

"Okay, well, that brings me rather neatly to my next question," the Doctor went on, "which is this: what's happened to Donna? Why is my coming back here dangerous for her?"

It was now Mrs Noble's turn to be confused. "Well, er—"

"Don't you remember, Doctor?" Wilfred cried. "You had to wipe her memory after that bio—bio-meta, er, thing. You said if she remembered anything about you or any of those things you did together, her mind would explode!"

The Doctor was starting to realise that he hadn't gone backwards in time after all...and that could mean trouble. Suddenly he had no need of his last question, because Wilfred's comment about him dying appeared to make sense. This was in no way comforting, and he decided to change the subject altogether. "Okay," he said again, "well, I promise to be careful not to trigger anything, alright? I'm not here to make trouble, really. It's just that someone seems to have hijacked my TARDIS—"

"Your what?" said Donna's mother.

"My—ship." the Doctor explained as succinctly as he could. "I don't know who or what, but they've moved me forwards—beyond the end of my personal timeline by the look of it. _This_ face's timeline, anyway. I hope." He was beginning to feel depressed at the thought, and he saw he'd lost his audience anyway, so he abandoned that line of conversation as well. "So all I need to do is work out a way to get the TARDIS back and then I'll be able to return to my own time and—"

"What are you talking about?" interrupted Donna, marching into the lounge with a tray of tea things. "TARDIS? Your own time? You sound like one of those nutters they interview on late-night telly, or... Or..." She frowned, coming to a halt several feet away from the coffee table. The other three looked at her in alarm as she winced, squeezing her eyes closed. "Or...something, I— I don't... What... OOOOHHH, MY HEAD!" The tray dropped to the floor as she clutched at her temples. China smashed and hot tea spilled everywhere. "What's happening to my head?!" Donna wailed, still with her eyes closed like she was trying to wake from a nightmare.

The Doctor leaped up from his seat and half-ran half-jumped over to her, accidentally knocking the coffee table onto its side in his haste. Donna collapsed just as he reached her, and he caught her in his arms. "It's alright, Donna." he said soothingly. "It's alright. I've got you..."

* * *

Donna lay unconscious on the sofa while the minutes ticked by. The Doctor knelt beside her, holding her hand in his, expression sober and dark brown eyes far away. He'd remained there for what felt like hours, not saying anything. The others had drifted away once it became apparent that Donna wasn't about to die, but the Doctor stayed.

"You don't have to do that, you know," Wilfred had said, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder. "She'll be alright. This sort of thing happened before, back when that—well...I s'pose it hasn't happened for you yet. But she was fine. She woke up and everything was...fine."

The Doctor hadn't responded immediately. "I did this to her?" he'd said after a long pause, making it a question. Wilfred had said nothing, but his silence had been answer enough. The Doctor had bowed his head, and the old man had left him alone.

I have to change this, the Doctor thought. I have to somehow make it so I never meet Donna again, so I can protect her from...whatever it is that's going to happen to her if I keep going wherever it is I'm headed.

But he knew, deep down, that it was useless. Whatever happened to Donna...it was a fixed point. There was nothing he could do, nothing to keep her safe. Sometimes he hated being a Time Lord...

When at last he let go of Donna's hand and stood up, the Doctor found that it was getting on for early evening. He ignored the tingling in his legs, which had gone rather numb from being in the one position so long, and considered miserably the prospect of checking in to some Earth hotel for the night. At least he still had his sonic screwdriver, so obtaining money wouldn't be a problem, but it was still a pain to have to think about all these things which he'd come to overlook, leading the life he did.

However, on heading into the dining room to say goodbye to Mrs Noble and Wilfred, the Doctor was surprised to receive an offer from them both to stay for a while. "But won't it be difficult with Donna here?" he said worriedly, after taking several long moments to process the astounding proposal Donna's mother had just put to him. (It was, after all, a very rare thing, people's mothers being nice to him, and often disconcerting when it did happen.)

"Oh, hopefully not." said Mrs Noble. "She's only here with us for the weekend, anyway. Her husband's off on a business trip, and—"

"_Husband?"_ the Doctor interjected. Were the surprises never-ending?

"Yes, she's married now." Mrs Noble said proudly. "You can ask her about it later if you like. The point is, she won't be here long, so if you can just keep your mouth shut for a couple of days, you'll both be alright. Anyway..." She seemed rather shy all of a sudden, causing the Doctor more discomfit than ever. "It's the least we can do for you, you know, after everything _you've _done for us."

"That's right," said Wilfred. "If anyone ever deserved a good turn, it's you, Doctor."

The Doctor, after overcoming the awkwardness he felt, was surprised to find himself touched at their gratitude. "Well..." he said hesitantly, "I...suppose I could, er, stay... For a bit, anyway." He smiled.

"Oh, _brilliant_." A sarcastic response shattered the moment. The Doctor, Mrs Noble and Wilfred turned to discover that Donna had awoken and was glowering around at them all. "Invasion of the nameless lunatics." she announced. "Could this day get any worse?"

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, then grinned and held out his hand. "John Smith," he said. "And I'd be watch out for questions like that if I were you. They tend to lead to trouble."

* * *

**A/N: **Ehehehe. "Invasion of the Nameless Lunatics" actually wouldn't make that bad a title for a Doctor Who episode, I think. Probably a pre-2005 one, though. Anyway, speaking of which, I said this in my author's notes for Sick Leave, but I'll say it again here: my knowledge of the canon is far from perfect; there may be headcanons inserted to make up for gaps in said knowledge, particularly when it comes to TARDIS terminology and the like. Hopefully no one minds that too much. Anyway. Peace. But...not literally.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

When the Doctor woke up the next morning, he was slightly disoriented at first. Where was he? What had happened?

Oh. Yes...

He'd spent the night on the lounge room sofa, as the Nobles didn't have a spare bed. This was alright, but he felt slightly stiff as he got slowly to his feet and opened the curtains, looking out at the street beyond the window. Unaccustomed as he was to waking to this kind of view, he felt the surreality of the situation more keenly than ever. He still wasn't certain at this point whether the novelty was pleasant or not, but even if it was, he longed more than ever to be back in his TARDIS and in his own time... After a moment he sighed and turned away from the window.

No one else appeared to be out of bed yet. It was still quite early in the morning. The Doctor assumed that either he was experiencing some kind of time-traveller's jet lag or else he'd simply not slept so well as usual—a common result of sleeping in an unfamiliar place. Not that it mattered particularly, he supposed. At least it gave him some time to think.

He wandered presently into the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. It wasn't until he'd nearly finished it that Donna emerged from the hall, clad in dressing-gown and slippers. "Morning," she said shortly.

The Doctor nodded. "Morning." He drank the last of his tea, then stood up. "Can I get you anything?"

"Nah, I'm alright, thanks." said Donna, heading for the pantry. The Doctor watched her, asking himself sadly how much he and she would go on to do together before things came to this. He dared not ask anyone else, of course, in case they should give him an answer; he'd had his hearts broken often enough to know how these friendships went.

"Fair enough," he said at last, though Donna had long since ceased to pay him any attention. "So...got any plans for the weekend?"

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Donna demanded, pausing in her breakfast-making to give him a sharp look.

"Nothing," the Doctor hastened to placate her, throwing up his hands. "Just curious, that's all."

"Huh," said Donna. "Well, you can just keep your curiosity to yourself, John. Who _are _you, anyway? Why're you here?"

"Oh," said the Doctor, thoroughly dismayed at the direction the conversation was taking, "I'm—just—sort of an old family friend, really. Thought I'd pop by and see how you were all doing, stay for a couple of days, that sort of thing."

"No one's ever mentioned you to me before." Donna informed him, looking unconvinced.

"Well..." said the Doctor, "I'm hardly remarkable."

"'Hardly remarkable'?" snorted Donna, who was now halfway through a bowl of cornflakes. "I should think that's the _last _thing you've been since you rocked up here yesterday and started giving the space in front of our house an earful."

The Doctor couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah...sorry. I do that. Apparently."

"Do what?" asked Mrs Noble, as she and Wilfred finally made an appearance.

"Act like a weirdo." said Donna.

"Ah." Her mother walked into the kitchen and inserted some bread into the toaster. "Won't argue with that."

As Donna laughed, the Doctor shared a look with Wilfred, who'd sat down at the dining table opposite him. Then the Doctor allowed himself a wry little smile, and the morning wore on without further incident.

* * *

Later in the day, Donna and her mother went out shopping. The Doctor declined an invitation to join them, deciding instead he'd rather stay behind and try to work his way out of the quandary he'd been landed in. (He suspected they'd only asked out of politeness anyway, and would be happier without him.)

Wilfred also opted to remain home, saying he had some things to take care of, but the Doctor noticed that he became rather subdued as soon as they'd gone, and wandered into the lounge to watch telly.

The Doctor returned to the kitchen and made himself another cup of tea, pacing the room while he drank. His mind was racing, but no way of altering his position occurred to him, and eventually he gave up in frustration. So he went into the lounge himself and took a seat on the sofa next to Wilfred, who fidgeted a bit but said nothing.

The Doctor gazed at the screen for a while, but didn't find himself paying much attention to the programme. Presently, he turned to Wilfred and asked, "So... What's wrong?"

"Eh?" said Wilfred, not looking away from the television set. "What d'you mean?"

"You." said the Doctor. "Ever since I turned up, you've been happy to see me, but it's like...like you're also sad at the same time."

"What? That's nonsense, Doctor. I'm perfectly alright."

"So'm I." said the Doctor. He paused, then added quietly, "And when I say that, I'm lying just as much as you are."

At this, Wilfred sighed and finally looked the Doctor in the eye. "It's just... I want you to be here, but I know you shouldn't be."

The Doctor nodded slowly. "Because I'm supposed to be dead, right?"

Wilfred glanced away again. "Right."

Silence fell between them like a shadow, and then the Doctor asked, "How?"

"Oh, Doctor—" Wilfred choked suddenly. "I can't tell you."

"I want to know." said the Doctor.

"Do you?" Wilfred asked. "Really? Because I wouldn't if I were you, Doctor. I just wouldn't."

"Please, Wilfred. Tell me."

"I...I can't." Wilfred's fist clenched beside him, and though he was looking determinedly at the floor, the Doctor could see a tear welling up in his eye. "I was _there_, Doctor, and I thought you were going to die, and then—then you seemed well again, except you came to say goodbye, and that was the last we saw of you until yesterday. I don't understand it."

The Doctor wanted—or at least thought he wanted—to press Wilfred further, but he couldn't bear to upset the man any more, so he just heaved a little sigh and said, "Neither do I, Wilf."

Now they were both looking away from each other. The Doctor didn't know what Wilfred was thinking, but he himself was wondering how close they'd become before the old man had seen him die. _If _he'd seen him die. But had he really? Because if he'd said goodbye and then just disappeared, what might that mean? The Doctor knew he must have had good reason not to come back. Perhaps it was because of whatever had happened to Donna... But even so, he knew he'd have to die someday, and chances were that's what had happened here.

But then... Hang on. If he'd _appeared _to die, then recover, didn't that just mean that he _had _died and then taken a long time to regenerate? Because if that was the case, then he wasn't really dead at all. Yes, it felt like dying because his current self would be gone forever—he didn't like to dwell on that fact—but... He wasn't dead. There was another version of him out there somewhere, a future version.

And this version needed to be found.

* * *

**A/N: **And this is where things started to get interesting in a way I hadn't originally anticipated. Yay for random inspiration! It did occur to me, however, that it would have been pretty hilarious if the Doctor _had _gone out with Donna and her mum, so I think I'll write a oneshot about that sometime in the near future.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

In the end the Doctor asked Wilfred to help him with his plan, deciding that two heads were probably better than one. It took a bit of explaining to get Donna's grandfather on board with the concept of looking for the Doctor's future self (well, present self, technically, since _he _was presumably in the correct position on his timeline) but not too much.

As soon as he'd realised what they were going to have to do, Wilfred went into the kitchen and made several phone calls to people whose names meant nothing to the Doctor, always with the same query. "This is how I found you last time," he explained to the Doctor when he'd finished, "er, I mean, when it happens to you."

"What does?" asked the Doctor.

"We tell everyone we know to keep an eye out for you and your police box, so if it turns up—and that time it did—someone'll spread the word, and then I'll get my mates to drive us there." said Wilfred.

"Right..." The Doctor couldn't be bothered asking any more questions.

* * *

An hour or so later, a large bus rolled up outside the house, hooting the horn a couple of times. Wilfred gave a whoop of delight and dragged the Doctor out to meet it. The Doctor took a good look at the bus as they approached it and surmised that several men and women of Wilfred's age bracket were seated inside. They appeared to know who he was—something he was not unaccustomed to, but could never quite grow comfortable with—and received him with a storm of cheering and clapping for some reason. He supposed he must have done something memorable the last time they'd met him (or the next time he met them, however one wanted to look at it). Or else they were just very friendly.

All in all it was quite a surreal situation to find oneself in, and the Doctor felt almost overwhelmed as he forced a smile and slipped into one of the empty seats at the front of the bus. (The back seats were, of course, all taken by the coolest of the elderlies.) Quick as lightning—or so it seemed—he was joined by a little old lady with a cheeky gleam in her eye. "Hullo, Doctor." she twinkled, slipping her arm through his. "Remember me?"

"Er..." the Doctor said as politely as he could manage (while beside him Wilfred rolled his eyes and took a seat behind the two of them), "no, sorry. Who're you?"

The woman seemed slightly disappointed, but introduced herself as Minnie the Menace, patting him on the thigh with her free hand as she did so. The Doctor tried to remain at ease in her presence, but found this harder than a lot of the trials and tribulations he'd faced over the years, and eventually settled for staring out the window and ignoring her while she made small talk, occasionally looking over her shoulder to include Wilfred in the not-quite-conversation.

Several very awkward miles and a couple of excruciating sing-alongs later, the bus drew to a halt by a quiet street corner. The Doctor checked to see if he could see the TARDIS anywhere outside, but after a moment he decided it wasn't there. "Er, 'scuse me," he called to the driver, "but what are we doing here? There's no police box."

"Yes there is." the driver laughed, pointing. "Up there, look!"

The Doctor looked. "Oh..." His beloved ship—or his present self's beloved ship—was parked for reasons unknown upon the top of a nearby nightclub. He was slightly annoyed with himself for not having spotted it sooner, but then again, he'd been expecting to see it at ground level. It wasn't like him to leave it in silly places like the roofs of buildings. Or was it? He didn't really know anything about his present self, after all. Suddenly he was beginning to feel quite nervous...

"Well, Doctor?" Wilfred's voice broke into his thoughts. "Are we getting out?"

"Er, right..." The Doctor stood up, edged his way delicately past Minnie's legs, then turned to go. "Wilf, I think maybe you should stay here. With any luck this shouldn't take too long, and then I'll be off and out of your hair."

"Oh, but Doctor—" Wilfred protested. "Couldn't I stay with you a bit longer? To say goodbye properly and all? And what about Donna and Sylvia? Aren't you going to come back and, you know, wish them well?"

The Doctor stopped and thought about this, holding Wilfred's pleading gaze while the rest of the old folks looked on in fascination. He knew he wasn't supposed to be there, that someone or something had displaced him in time and brought him to a point he shouldn't have been able to enter, that his final farewell should have been said long ago and the sooner he left, the better off everyone would be... But then again, what was the point of being a Time Lord if he couldn't bend the rules a bit here and there?

"Well..." he said. "Alright. I suppose you can tag along until I've got this mess sorted out, and then I'll drop you off back home, and we'll all have one last hurrah." He smiled slowly. Almost immediately, he was swept up into a hug as Wilfred, very nearly overcome with emotion, managed to choke out his thanks. The Doctor felt his smile broaden—and then freeze as the seniors began applauding again. Colouring faintly, the Doctor led Wilfred off the bus, whereupon they stood on the pavement and waved as the others drove off, bound for an early afternoon showing of _Inception _at the pictures.

Once they were left alone, the Doctor and Wilfred entered the nightclub. It was closed of course, but the Doctor easily got them in with his sonic screwdriver. It was eerie inside, dark and dusty and quiet, not a soul stirring besides themselves. Or so it seemed, until a muffled _CRASH _was heard to sound from the roof. It was then followed by a hideous, guttural wailing—with just a hint of a tune to it, as though several chain-smoker whales were having a karaoke event up above.

"What's that?" cried Wilfred.

The Doctor couldn't help but give a wry grin. "I'm not sure," he said, "but I bet it's the reason I'm here. Come on." And he led the way to the nearest lift, which they stepped inside. A touch of a button and they were gliding serenely upwards to the sound of twangy banjo music. The Doctor wrinkled his nose slightly, then brightened as the lift slowed to a stop. "Ready?" he asked.

"I don't think so." Wilfred admitted.

The Doctor laughed. "Neither am I." he said. "That's the fun of it."

There was a _ding_, and the lift doors opened.

* * *

**A/N: **Getting close now! But, y'know, I like cliffhangers, so naturally this felt like the best place to stop the chapter. Ehehehe. Still, I hope you enjoyed the brief return of Wilfred's magic Doctor-finding bus. I really liked those guys for some reason, so I just thought I'd bring them in for a chapter. Obviously they don't know who the Doctor really is or anything, but they do know the name he goes by and that he's someone important, so I thought the random clapping wouldn't require too much suspension of disbelief. Plus it's just funny.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

The sight that met the Doctor and Wilfred when they emerged from the lift shaft onto the rooftop was nothing short of extraordinary. There were twenty, maybe thirty of them standing there, all clutching instruments in their rotting grey hands and singing at the tops of their decaying voices. It was truly beautiful—and truly repulsive—to behold.

"_ALL WE WANNA DO IS EAT YOUR BRAINS!" _they sang, sounding horribly off-key. _"WE'RE NOT UNREASONABLE, I MEAN, NO ONE'S GONNA EAT YOUR EYES!"_

"What _are _they?" Wilfred shouted over the cacophony, edging back behind the Doctor a bit, eyes bulging in their sockets.

"_ALL WE WANNA DO IS EAT YOUR BRAINS! WE'RE AT AN IMPASSE HERE; MAYBE WE SHOULD COMPROMISE!"_

"I..." said the Doctor, who was just as gobsmacked, "I—I think they're...zombies! _Alien_ zombies!" A manic grin captured his face for a moment as he began to assess the situation. "Zombies from the planet _Zyxt_, no less! And they've formed some sort of orchestra by the looks of it. Brilliant!"

"_IF YOU'LL OPEN UP THE DOOR," _they sang,_ "WE'LL ALL COME INSI-I-DE AND EAT YOUR BRA-A-A-A-A-I-I-I-I-N-N-NS!"_

"But Doctor, what are they doing _here?!_"

Wilfred's pragmatism brought the Doctor back to the task at hand, and the latter's smile faded somewhat as the zombies launched into what sounded like the second verse. "Ah." he said. "Yes, quite right." He took a more studious look around the roof, and finally saw what he wanted—or needed, at any rate—to see. "I think I had better put that question to myself."

The zombified Zyxtons hadn't reacted at all yet to the appearance of the two discombobulated newcomers, and that was because they were not facing the lift shaft but were, in fact, turned in the opposite direction, towards the conductor. And it was to this conductor that the Doctor was now walking, Wilfred cautiously trailing behind him.

As they came into view, the music—mercifully—died down, for one by one the zombies stopped singing, stopped playing, and stared. And drooled a bit. The conductor lowered his hand (which held not a baton but a sonic screwdriver not unlike the Doctor's, albeit superior in length and with a green light rather than a blue one) and turned slowly around, looking confused. It was then that the Doctor and Wilfred got their first good look at him.

He was about the same height as the Doctor, though not so skinny; he had longish brown hair which at the moment looked rather dishevelled, greenish-grey eyes, prominent cheekbones and chin, all of which taken together made him look childlike and otherworldly at the same time. He wore a brown tweed suit jacket, a bow tie, dark trousers held up with slim braces and a pair of black lace-up boots.

The three of them stared at each other for what felt like a ridiculously long stretch of time, while the zombies eventually grew bored and turned to amusing themselves with some alien game that looked a little bit like cricket, only with more swearing and devouring of the opposition.

"Doctor!" Wilfred burst out at last—but it was unclear to whom he was referring, as the conductor, it was plain, could be none other than the present Doctor.

Sure enough, both Time Lords turned to Wilfred as one. "What?" they said.

Wilfred was so taken aback that he had to take a moment to formulate his next question. In the meantime, the other Doctor took the opportunity to confront his past self. "Oi," he said. "He was talking to _me_." He looked back at Wilfred, moving with a kind of nervous energy. "Weren't you?" He didn't wait for a reply, but returned to the Doctor. "He _was_. Anyway, what are _you _doing here? This is my spot, isn't it? Can't you see I'm busy trying to teach these clots how to put on a decent show?"

"Yes, but—sorry, I know I shouldn't be here, but there was an incident and—and _why _are you conducting a singing zombie orchestra on top of a London nightclub in _broad daylight _anyway?" the Doctor spluttered.

The other Doctor started to reply, then stopped, then started again, then paused with his mouth half open and a look of uncertainty about him. He accompanied each start and stop with a little hand gesture, as though unable to remain completely still for any period of time. At last he said, "Ah, well, it's a long story, but frankly a hilarious one, so I'm sure you'd love to hear it. Basically, we were flying in one direction and they were flying in another and there was this incredibly distracting comet, and—"

"Yeah, never mind, actually, you can tell me later." the Doctor interrupted, glancing at the restless zombies. "Can we just get rid of them, please, and then I need to, well..." He looked rather embarrassed. "I need to cadge a lift."

"Oh?" the other Doctor said with a roguish grin. "What happened? Did the TARDIS lock you out again? My, my, she _can_ be temperamental sometimes."

"It's not like that." snapped the Doctor. "There was a—I don't know, an explosion of some sort and then she ran off and left me. But that's not really the point, is it, and can we _please _get these zombies out of here? I mean, I love zombies as much as the next person, and it's not their fault they're zombified and everything—I'm sorry, by the way, I'm so sorry," he added, turning to the zombies for a moment, "—but they don't belong here, you know. What if they get hungry and decide to run off and start eating innocent people?"

The other Doctor considered this. "S'pose you're right." he admitted. "I'll just need to patch up their spaceship for them and then they'll be able to push off back to Zyxt."

"Spaceship?" echoed the Doctor.

"Yes, that's it over there." The other Doctor pointed, and the Doctor, following his finger, was suddenly aware of a partially damaged spacecraft parked precariously on the top of a neighbouring building.

"How did I not see that before?" the Doctor marvelled.

"Oh, it had its shields on a minute ago, but I expect they've died now." the other Doctor said cheerfully. "Anyway, off I go to fix it—won't be two ticks. We can talk all this over in the TARDIS afterwards."

"Okay, I'll just take Wilfred and wait for you there." said the Doctor. He started to beeline for the TARDIS, then stopped. "Hang on... So did you say '_we_ were flying'? Are you with someone at the moment?"

"Yes—well, two someones actually," said the other Doctor, already running off towards the damaged spaceship. "My Ponds. They're cool, but they're still in the TARDIS because the zombie music gave them both a headache." He did a running jump onto the next roof and vanished inside the spaceship. The Doctor watched him go, then gave the zombies a brief smile and headed for the other Doctor's TARDIS. It looked a bit different to his, but still recognisable—and it seemed to know him as he went inside.

It was at this point that Wilfred, who'd watched the two of them with wide eyes, finally remembered what he'd been about to say before. "There's two of you!" he exclaimed.

The Doctor, one hand on the TARDIS door, looked over his shoulder at Wilfred, seeming faintly amused. "Yeah," he said. "That _was_ the point, you know."

"I know, but... I still can't believe it." said Wilfred, regaining mobility and coming over to the TARDIS himself. "There's _actually _two of you! Doesn't that feel...well, strange?"

The Doctor shrugged. "It's happened before." was all he said, and he opened the doors.

Wilfred, following him into the TARDIS, could only shake his head in wonder. He'd thought he'd known what he was getting into back at the start, but now... Well, it seemed there was just no end to the Doctor's madness.

But perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

* * *

**A/N: **Actually, I think there's no 'perhaps' about it. Three cheers for multiple Doctors and never-ending madness! Speaking of madness, the song the zombies were singing, if you didn't recognise it, was "Re: Your Brains" by the magnificent Jonathan Coulton. It is the best (and only) zombie rock song I have ever heard. But, I digress.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

"This box," said Wilfred, as he and the Doctor stepped inside the other Doctor's TARDIS and closed the doors behind them, "is different on the inside."

At first the Doctor thought he meant that it was _bigger _on the inside; but then it occurred to him that the old man's reaction wasn't as strong as was generally to be expected when people entered the TARDIS for the first time, and so maybe that meant Wilfred had been inside _his _TARDIS, the previous version of the TARDIS, and was referring instead to the control room interior, which was indeed quite different from what he was used to.

"Yes," he said, looking around and frowning his disapproval. "He's gone and changed the desktop theme again or something by the look of it."

"Er, excuse me," said a new voice, causing both the Doctor and Wilfred to start and turn around, "but who're you? And where's the Doctor?"

The Doctor and Wilfred were now facing a young couple: a woman with red hair and a man with dark blonde hair, both staring at them in some state of perplexity. "Ah," said the Doctor. "You're the Ponds, I take it?"

"Er." said the man. (It was he who had spoken before.)

"Yup." said the woman. "I'm Amy and this is Rory. Now it's your turn."

"Oh," said the Doctor. "Right. Yes. Well, I'm the Doctor—"

"No you're not." Amy objected. "You don't look anything like him."

"It's—complicated." said the Doctor. "And anyway, this is Wilfred Mott. So nice to meet you—now perhaps someone would like to explain the situation with the zombies."

"Er, well," began Rory, but Amy cut him off.

"Hang on," she said. "First tell us where the Doctor is. The _real _one, I mean."

The Doctor looked slightly hurt. "_I'm _real." he said. "I _am _the Doctor—just with a different face. Well, and displaced in time. _Your_ Doctor's still out there, playing handyman."

"What?"

"He's fixing the zombies' ship so they can leave." Wilfred put in helpfully.

"Ah." said Amy.

"Anyway," the Doctor went on, "to get back to the zombies..."

"We crashed into them." Rory told him. "And then we all fell down here, and they got all cross and the Doctor told them to calm down and it turned out they were on their way to a rehearsal for a concert and now they couldn't get there because of their ship being wrecked and the conductor (who was also the pilot) being crushed, and so the Doctor said he'd help them rehearse while the remains of their ship cooled down enough for him to make some repairs, and—well, that's about it, actually."

"Oh, I see." said the Doctor. "Well... Okay, that solves that mystery, anyway."

There was a lot of nodding and murmuring following this, and then Rory asked if anyone wanted a cup of tea, and everyone else said that would be lovely, so he wandered off into the recesses of the TARDIS to put the kettle on, leaving Amy to ask the Doctor just what he and Wilfred were doing on-board.

"It's fairly simple," said the Doctor, and he launched into a lengthy explanation on regenerations and his past lives and timelines and his vanishing TARDIS and so forth. By the time he'd finished, Rory had already come back and distributed the teas, and everyone was sipping away with a look of utter bewilderment on their faces.

"Er, sorry..." Rory said at length, "but I'm not _quite _sure I got that."

"You're not the only one." Amy muttered.

Even Wilfred was perplexed—and _he_ already knew what was going on!

"Sorry," said the Doctor. "Usually I'm quite good at explaining things, only I didn't sleep well last night and I don't know half of what's going on anyway and—" He stopped when he realised no one was listening to him any more: the three companions had all turned to watch as the TARDIS doors crashed open and the other Doctor sauntered merrily in, straightening his bow tie with a raffish air.

"Doctor!" said Amy. "Can _you _tell us what's going on?"

"'Fraid I don't know myself, Amy," was the other Doctor's happy reply. "Isn't that brilliant?"

"Um, no, not really." said Amy.

"It's quite scary, actually." added Rory. "Cup of tea?"

"I'd love one." said the other Doctor. Rory nodded and vanished again. "So," said the other Doctor to his past self, "how d'you like the place?"

"I don't." the Doctor said bluntly.

The other Doctor looked affronted. "Well!" he said. "You _are _rude, aren't you?"

The Doctor nodded. "And not ginger..." he said under his breath.

"I forgot how rude I was when I was you," the other Doctor went on.

"Seems to me like you forgot a lot of things." remarked Amy.

"Did he?" asked Wilfred, more because he was feeling left out than because he really wanted to know.

"Yeah, well," the other Doctor said defensively, "I got older. It happens, you know." He smiled a bit. "I remember_ you_, though. Wilfred, wasn't it?"

"That's right." said Wilfred.

The other Doctor continued to smile benignly at Wilfred until a new realisation seemed to strike him. Slowly, his face grew serious and he took a measured step backwards. "Yes." he said. "You're...Donna's grandfather."

Wilfred just nodded this time. The Doctor, watching the other Doctor closely, noticed the latter's eyes grow dull, his fidgety movements fading gradually to a weary inertia. This was worrying enough, but worse still was the fact that the Doctor couldn't quite make out whether it was only pain the other Doctor was showing, or—was that...a hint of guilt there as well?

The Doctor moved half a step in the other Doctor's direction, wanting desperately to confront his present self; but as the other Doctor avoided his eye, something held him back even as he opened his mouth to pose a question—and instead he said, "Oh, look, here's Rory with your tea."

"Ah." said the other Doctor, turning and accepting a teacup from his companion. He regained his smile, and in that instant it was as though something in the air had shattered and the awkward pause had never been. "Thanks, Rory." He raised the cup to his lips at once, then let out a yelp of pain and spilled hot tea all over himself. Amy and Rory made noises of general exasperation, as though they were used to such antics.

"Figures I'd get stuck as a mess-maker after I regenerate." the Doctor said gloomily.

"Hey," said the other Doctor, glowering as he removed his now-stained bow tie and tried ineffectively to wipe himself up, "_you _weren't exactly perfect either, you—skinny—over-groomed—_womaniser_."

"I can't _help _it if the ladies of the universe throw themselves at me!"

"No, but you never did much in the way of protesting, did you?"

"Maybe they just liked me because I didn't wear a tie like _that_."

"Bow ties are _cool_."

At this, the Ponds shared a helpless shrug. Wilfred, however, surprised everyone by sticking up for the other Doctor. "I think he's right." he said, somewhat apologetically—then, turning to his Doctor, "How come _you _never wear bow ties, Doctor?"

"Huh." snorted the Doctor. "When _I _wear a bow tie, I wear full-on black tie. If _that_ doesn't win the cool contest, I don't know what the universe is coming to."

The companions nodded thoughtfully to themselves, then turned to the other Doctor, who was putting on a clean tie with an injured air. "Well," he huffed, "being cool isn't everything." But soon after that, he got out his sonic screwdriver and began to toy with it, extending it to its full length as if to show off how much cooler it was than the Doctor's. The Doctor just rolled his eyes and ignored him.

"So." said Rory, once the returning silence had gone far beyond uncomfortable and become excruciating. "Did the zombies get off alright?"

"Yes," said the other Doctor, cheering up at the change of subject, "yes they did."

"Great," Amy said briskly, "so where to now?"

"Now," said the other Doctor, growing happier with every word, "we go to find _his _TARDIS—" He pointed at the Doctor. "—so we can dump him back in his own time where he belongs. Sounds like fun, eh?"

Amy, Rory and Wilfred just exchanged glances. "Yeah," the Doctor said at last. "_Allons-y_, then, Doctor."

"Quite right, Doctor." said the other Doctor, and he at once pulled several levers and soon had the TARDIS hurtling through the time vortex. "GERONIMO-O-O-O-O!" he yelled delightedly.

"Does he say that often?" the Doctor asked of the Ponds in a low voice, as the TARDIS rattled and rocked about.

"Oh, yeah." said Amy.

"All the time." said Rory.

"Hmm." said the Doctor, and he began to smirk to himself.

* * *

It took a while, but the process of locating the Doctor's missing TARDIS turned out to be surprisingly simple. Using a modified version of the Doctor's old timey-wimey detector, they were able to discover and lock on to the absentee's space-time coordinates within the hour. After that, it was just a matter of waiting until they arrived.

While they waited, they played Twister at the insistence of the other Doctor. Wilfred span the wheel and called out colours as the other four became increasingly tangled, and hilarity ensued. Everyone was secretly rather disappointed when they came at last to a halt.

"Well," said the Doctor to his present self, once they'd all clambered to their feet and straightened their clothes, "I suppose this is it, then. Thanks for the lift."

"No problem," the other Doctor beamed. "But no need to say goodbye just yet." He glanced at the Ponds. "I, er, if these two don't mind, that is, I'd rather like to see this little adventure through to the end."

Amy and Rory shrugged. "Why not?" said Rory.

"Not like we've got anything better to do right now." added Amy. "Twister's not much fun with only three people anyway."

"Great!" said the other Doctor. He turned to the Doctor. "After you, then, Doctor."

The Doctor grinned. "Alright, Doctor."

They filed out of the TARDIS one by one—and before anybody had deduced anything much besides the fact that they seemed to be inside some kind of space cafe, they were greeted with a voice that, for some of them, sounded all too familiar.

"Doctor," it said, rather more brusquely than usual. "Wasn't expecting you here..."

The Doctor stared. "What?" he demanded.

"Hang on..." said the other Doctor. "I know _you_ too, don't I?"

"Uh..." said the voice. "Do you?"

"_What?"_ the Doctor repeated.

"Oh, just—hang on, it'll come to me..." said the other Doctor. He paused, thinking hard, then said, "Aha! I know! It's...Captain Jack!"

"That's me," said the captain, with a slightly surprised smile. "And you are?"

"The Doctor." said the other Doctor, with a slightly not-so-surprised-in-fact-quite-the-opposite smile.

A short silence.

"WHAT?!" said the Doctor and Jack at the same time.

* * *

**A/N: **And suddenly the title of this story gains extra significance... By crikey, though, it isn't half difficult recreating the feeling of the 50th Anniversary bickering without actually having a rehash of the 50th Anniversary bickering. Ah well. Poor old Eleven. Ten may be my Doctor, but I do have a soft spot for Eleven, so hopefully it doesn't seem like I'm bashing him. Anywho...just one chapter to go. Huzzah!


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

"Okay," said the Doctor, when everyone had more or less finished gaping at everyone else, "obviously we haven't quite got to the end of our explanations phase. Jack," he added severely, "kindly tell me why it is I find you here with _that—_" He pointed to his TARDIS, which was currently parked in a shadowy corner of the cafe, looking rather forlorn. "—and why it is you don't seem pleased to see me."

"Uh, well," said Jack, taking a careful step backwards, "would you believe I got over you?"

"I hate to seem vain," said the Doctor, at which the other Doctor snorted with laughter, "but no, not really." He eyed Jack seriously for a moment, then turned to glare at the other Doctor, who was still laughing. "Oh, shut up, Facelift."

As the other Doctor spluttered into indignant silence and the other companions grew bored and went off to order Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters, Jack seized the opportunity to change the subject. "So," said he, "how does it work? There being two of you, I mean. Was it another one of those metacrisis things?"

"Eh?" said the Doctor, now alarmed as well as baffled.

Jack blinked. "You know, that...thing you did, where there were two of you. Only they both looked the same that time. Don't you remember?"

"Ah, I think I might able to help you there," the other Doctor offered. "See, _he's _the Doctor from your past, and I'm, well—" He checked his watch. "I'm the Doctor from your future."

"_Oh," _said Jack, comprehension finally dawning, "so you're him after he regenerates, right?"

"Spot on." said the other Doctor.

"Hmm." said Jack.

"What?" said the other Doctor.

"Well." said Jack.

"_What?" _said the other Doctor.

"I'm just trying to decide if you're an improvement on him," explained Jack, at which both Doctors looked mortally wounded. Jack chuckled. "Just kidding. Anyway, so, does this happen a lot? You running into past versions of yourself?"

The Doctors shrugged and glanced at each other. "Not _very_ often," said the Doctor.

"But certainly on more than one occasion." added the other Doctor.

"Wow." said Jack, a devilish grin capturing his face for a moment. "Wish I'd been there."

"_Stop it."_ both Doctors said severely.

"We haven't time for your shenanigans." said the other Doctor.

"Yes," said the Doctor. "What we need is for you to answer my original questions, which basically amounted to me wanting to know if you've anything to do with my TARDIS being here."

Jack's face fell. "Uh," he said. "Well, see, it's kind of a funny story, actually..."

The Doctors glared at him in unison, but were prevented from voicing their feelings by the arrival of a considerably merrier Amy, Rory and Wilfred, all clutching half-filled glasses of Gargle Blaster and singing sea shanties.

"Hi guys," said Amy, once they'd hiccuped their way to the end of the last verse, "what's up?"

"Yeah," added Rory, rather pointlessly.

Wilfred giggled a bit and said nothing.

The Doctor looked at his next incarnation in despair. "You know, it's quite depressing when we're the only ones around who seem to be acting like responsible grown-ups."

"I know..." the other Doctor said sadly. "Oi!" he added, addressing Jack, who was just taking advantage of the disruption to sneak off towards the toilets. "Come back here at once and explain to me—or the other me, I should say—what's been going on around here! We've stood around and chatted for ages, which was quite nice considering everything, but this is getting far too silly, and it has to stop." He assumed a look of such authority that even his past self was impressed—though the effect was ruined slightly when the half-sozzled companions began to laugh at him for no apparent reason.

Jack, meanwhile, sighed and finally conceded. "Okay," he said. "You're not gonna like this, but...here's how it was. I was trying to fix my vortex manipulator for—" He hesitated while the two Doctors began to frown again. "—uh, various reasons. Thing is, it—well, it's not called a vortex manipulator for nothing. I did something wrong and it, uh, manipulated the vortex."

"In what way?" the Doctor asked sharply.

"I don't know exactly," said Jack, "but I'm guessing it had a ripple effect which must have eventually gone all the way out to your TARDIS, Doctor. I don't know how long it took, but they must've been some pretty big ripples..."

"Big enough to throw the TARDIS out of the vortex altogether." the Doctor hypothesised, looking as though he finally began to understand—and dislike intensely what he understood. "And because it was ejected into a point on its timeline where it didn't belong, it reacted badly. Safety protocols made sure everyone inside—me, that is—was evacuated, and then it ran a scan of the vortex for the source of disturbance, located it and took itself there."

"Yeah," said Jack, nodding. "I think that about sums it up."

There was a long silence, during which the Doctors simultaneously folded their arms and stared grimly at Jack, Jack did his best to look contrite, and the others all finished their drinks and started up another song.

Finally, the Doctor heaved a sigh and turned to the other Doctor. "I don't think this is worth making a scene over, do you?"

The other Doctor shook his head. "No, not really. However," he continued, wagging a finger in Jack's direction, "_you _can consider yourself sternly reprimanded, mister."

Jack, sensing he was off the hook, couldn't help but smile. "I've been very bad." he agreed. "Perhaps I need disciplining."

"_Stop it." _the Doctors said again.

"Just take yourself off and do something productive for a change." said the Doctor.

"Roger," said Jack, and with that he turned on his heel and gratefully (well, marginally gratefully) absented himself from their company.

"Oh." said the other Doctor, watching him go.

"What?" asked the Doctor.

"I forgot to check whether he got his vortex manipulator to work in the end." the other Doctor said unhappily.

"Well..." said the Doctor, casually producing his sonic screwdriver and pointing it after Jack. "No need to worry about it _now_."

The other Doctor grinned. "Clever." He turned to Amy and Rory. "Right, well, I'm in the mood for some Gargle Blasters myself, so come along, Ponds." He flung an arm around the shoulders of each and began to steer them merrily towards the corner around which the bar was situated. "Be seeing you, Doctor."

The Doctor, seeing his present self go, put his hands slowly into his pockets and thought for a moment, brow furrowing. Then he called out, "But—hang on!" The other Doctor turned quizzically around. "Aren't you going to come and...and see us off?"

For a moment, the other Doctor seemed almost not to understand. Then a line of pain crossed his face. He held the Doctor's gaze for the space of three long breaths, and then his mouth moved slightly. But the cafe was too noisy for the words to be heard, and when the other Doctor turned and vanished with his Ponds around the corner, something prevented the Doctor from following.

* * *

Wilfred had begun to sober up by the time he and the Doctor had touched back down on Earth, mere minutes after they'd left the Nobles' house. For the moment, however, he didn't try to engage the Doctor in conversation, as he sensed the Time Lord had something preying on his mind.

And he was right, of course: the Doctor was happy that his little misadventure had come to an end without too great a mishap, but underneath his relief, he was deeply distressed by what he'd seen and heard about his death and all that led up to it, particularly Donna's fate. He still didn't fully understand any of it—and he wasn't certain he wanted to. He could have asked the other Doctor about it before he'd left, as his present self had shown plainly in his gaze that he remembered something, however much he tried not to. But something about the notion had seemed...wrong, so the Doctor had kept his peace, or lack thereof.

Wilfred, however, was not so efficient at keeping himself bottled up, and as they went inside and sat themselves wearily down on the sofa again, he asked slowly, "Will this change anything, Doctor?"

The Doctor, who was studying closely his steepled fingertips, said, "Will what change anything?"

"You," said Wilfred. "Being here ahead of time. If you know the future, will you be able to do anything about it?"

It was a moment before the Doctor shook his head, raising eyes that were shadowed by agony to meet Wilfred's own. "No." he said. "I can't alter my own timeline; that's why I shouldn't be here, and why I won't remember any of this when I get back. Everything that's coming is fixed, and—none of us will even know."

"Ah." said Wilfred. He was silent for a few seconds, then added, "Well, maybe that's as it should be."

"Maybe." the Doctor said dully.

More silence.

"That new you," Wilfred ventured at length. "He doesn't ever stop by."

The Doctor gave a sad little shrug. "I don't think he likes to look back. I think he was born alone, after I said all his goodbyes for him."

"How d'you know?"

"I saw it in his eyes."

"Oh." Another pause. "Will _he _remember what happened today, Doctor? It's not him who was out of his time, after all."

The Doctor shrugged again. "Maybe. I don't know. But if he does, and if he's got any of me left in him, I imagine he might pop in one day, to say that goodbye himself. Hopefully he won't set Donna's memory off."

"Who won't set my what off?" Donna enquired suddenly, breaking into their conversation as she and her mother entered the house, laden with bags.

"Oh," said the Doctor, hastily getting to his feet and assuming a less solemn expression. "Nothing. Here, can I help you with those?" He hastened to alleviate her of some of her load, and the subject was dropped.

The four of them spent a happy evening together, and then it was time for the Doctor to go. Having made sure that Donna was safely out of the way, he bid Wilfred and Mrs Noble farewell, hopped into the TARDIS and finally steered his way back through the vortex, emerging in his own time a happier, less troubled Time Lord.

All the memories faded to nothing as he took a walk down a darkened London street, smiling vaguely until an advertisement for some sort of diet pill caught his eye. They never came back in the months that followed, save fleetingly, in the form of bad dreams.

Wilfred, meanwhile, way off in the future, came eventually to accept what his life—and the lives of those around him—had become, and although he missed the excitement of seeing his old alien friend, he was happy in the hope that perhaps that other Doctor might turn up someday. Perhaps. Years went by, and when he died, that hope—and that happiness—hadn't left him.

For his part, you see, the other Doctor never _did_ come to call on Wilfred. It might just have been the Gargle Blasters, but no one ever found out for certain.

The End

* * *

**A/N: **Aww. Sad ending. But I didn't call this an angst story for nothing. Anyway, I hope you like how all that turned out, and I still plan on writing that alternate oneshot (in which I think Eleven will probably make another appearance), so if you're interested in reading it when I upload it, feel free to follow me. Thanks for reading!


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